Music and words

You play him your favorite song.

And he listens, 

and nods,

and taps his foot a few times,

and you try not to mind.

Because you know not everyone 

can love it as much as you do,

you don't expect him to stand 

in the middle of the supermarket,

speechless for 3 minutes;

you just expect him to-

well, 

not tap his feet,

and maybe close his eyes,

and maybe, 

just maybe,

inhale just after the song ends 

as if he needs a lung 

full of fresh air to process.

But he doesn't-

it's all feet, 

and hands,

and mouthing the words he doesn't know,

and to you it feels like blasphemy.

But you try, 

you sit next to him, 

watching, 

waiting.

And the song ends.

And before the last chord he tells you

"it's cool, 

it reminds me of Coldplay."

And suddenly, 

you know, 

in that moment,

that this person, 

this sudden stranger is not the one for you.

You know, 

although it might take you months 

or even years to admit it 

and finally give in and give up,

that this person is not 

who you will love for the rest of your life.

And there is both comfort 

and sadness 

in that knowledge.

You know he doesn't feel the world 

the same way you do,

and suddenly that explains 

every misstep, 

every miscommunication,

every single thing lost in translation.

You are two pieces that don't fit.

— m.f. // I loved a boy once, 

who loved music 

the way I love words